


Proclamations

by Elucreh



Series: Journey 'Verse [3]
Category: Bandom
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucreh/pseuds/Elucreh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, Spencer selects a belt for a very special purpose</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proclamations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrsquizzical](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mrsquizzical), [harriet_vane](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=harriet_vane).



> For harriet_vane, who posted [this picture](http://i260.photobucket.com/albums/ii1/harriet_vane/panic%2012_5/halloween3.jpg) and then demanded that I write the beltporn she had made me talk about, and for mrsquizzical who chimed in. Warning for d/s, possessive!kink, and bondage.

Spencer picked the belt very carefully. It was getting to be known, among the people who followed that kind of thing, that Spencer liked to collect belt buckles (Shane was good for a lot of things), but far better known among those people was their bands' tendency to wear each others' clothes. It would be subtle, to those who didn't know them.

He wore that belt, that particular belt, all week, getting used to the weight of it, catching Brendon's hands and holding them along the leather while they kissed. He draped it over the towel rod both hotel nights, where it could stare at both of them in the mirror; on the bus, he fastened it tight around his wrist as he slept.

The night before, he stripped Brendon to his skin and put him up against the wall of the hotel room; wouldn't let him turn around, wouldn't let him touch, wouldn't let him undress Spencer, no matter how he begged. Spencer just tore the buckle of the belt loose and unzipped his pants, took Brendon like that, raw and bare and pleading while Spencer was fully dressed, the cloth chafing at Brendon's skin and the metal of the buckle warming as it jolted against Brendon's thigh.

The next night, as Brendon clambered into his stage clothes and started humming _Timeless to Me_, warming up his voice, Spencer beckoned him closer. Brendon came, still humming, raising one eyebrow in a question. Spencer shook his head just a little, warning him not to speak.

Standing up, he shoved Brendon gently into the corner, behind a big uncomfortable armchair, where they could be half-shielded from all the busy eyes around them. Brendon went still and pliant the moment Spencer laid that flat, forceful hand on his waist, his mouth just slightly open.

Spencer let his hands drop to his own waist, and he unbuckled the belt smoothly, his fingers not fighting him at all after a week of taking it off and putting it on again, three changes a day. He pulled the belt loose with a slither and a snap, catching the end just before it flew into the pit of Brendon's stomach.

Brendon's breathing went uneven.

Moving quickly, quietly, Spencer tucked the tip of his belt into Brendon's first beltloop and started to pull it through. Every time he needed to reach further back, he tugged Brendon just a little bit closer, until they were standing nose to nose, breathing each other's breath, while Spencer clicked the buckle shut, hands steady and practiced even backwards.

Then he backed up, out from behind the chair, and began his own warmups on the practice pad.

It was almost a full minute before Brendon's voice started up again, wavery and weak for another two minutes before it gained equilibrium.

Spencer didn't touch Brendon again, not before the show or during or after. Brendon shot him a little glance after the show, but Spencer didn't respond, and Brendon loudly declared his intention to wait to shower until they got to the hotel. Fortunately, everyone else seemed to agree with him. They climbed onto the bus and poked at each other's mistakes with tired jollity until they could climb off again at the hotel, where Zack handed out keys and made dire pronouncements about people who were late for their radio interviews.

In the elevator, Spencer stood behind Brendon and tapped an idle rhythm on the wall with his left hand, part of the song they had been working on. The first two fingers of his right were curled into Brendon's belt. His belt.

It was a good thing they travelled with a bunch of unobservant assholes, really. Brendon was showing signs of hyperventilation.

Spencer keyed them into the room and held the door for Brendon. Brendon stepped inside and kicked off his shoes before turning to look at Spencer, his pupils blown, his knees trembling. Spencer shut the door.

"Shirt off," Spencer said, soft.

Brendon obeyed.

Spencer took a step--one step--closer to him, and laid one hand in the middle of Brendon's chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat, the way his lungs dragged in the air. He hooked the fingers of his other hand into one of Brendon's beltloops.

"Whose belt is this?" he asked, just barely above a whisper.

Brendon looked up at him, his face flushed. "Yours," he said.

"That's right," Spencer told him soothingly. He let his other hand drop to the buckle of the belt. He could feel Brendon's erection just below it, hot and hard. Probably aching. "And why are you wearing it?" he asked, pulling just one side of the buckle free.

Brendon whinged, a soft high sound like a hurt animal. Spencer let go of the belt buckle, reached up to run a soothing hand through Brendon's hair. Brendon leaned into the touch, his breathing evening out a little even as his color got higher.

"That's right," Spencer said softly, petting him again. "But I need you to tell me." He puts his hand back on the buckle. "Why are you wearing it?"

"Yours," Brendon rasped, and whined again when Spencer rewarded him by opening the belt buckle.

Spencer laid a hand on Brendon's navel. "That's right," he soothed, pulling the belt free slowly. Brendon wasn't even watching, all his attention for Spencer's face, Spencer's eyes.

Spencer lifted Brendon's hands to his own chest, crossed them at the wrist, sucking in his own sharp breath at the way Brendon's sweaty hands felt pressed just under his collarbones. Slowly, he brought up the belt and draped it across the knobby bones where Brendon's hands ended and his arms began, watching Brendon's eyes to see whether this was okay.

Brendon's breathing went funny again.

Quickly now, Spencer wrapped the belt around Brendon's wrists, not fastening the buckle--just in case. He tucked in the ends as a compromise, worming a finger between Brendon's hands to make sure the belt wasn't too tight, and Brendon whined, high in his throat.

"Get on the bed," Spencer told him, stepping back and stripping his own clothes as fast as he knew how. "I'll get your pants off." Brendon scrambled backward until the bed against his knees knocked him over.

He stared at Spencer with wide eyes as Spencer got them both naked, spread his knees wide when Spencer climbed up on the bed. Spencer felt his own restlessness subsiding as Brendon's built up, as Brendon twitched under preparatory fingers. He slid a hand up Brendon's side, up his arm, grabbed the belt and pushed Brendon's arms into the mattress as he guided his cock into Brendon's tight, sweet ass. Brendon bucked up, trying to get him deeper, and his back arched impossibly when he couldn't move his shoulders, when Spencer was _holding_ him down.

His cheeks flushed brighter yet, and Spencer lost himself in the sight of him, in the feel of leather and metal beneath his fingers, in the moans and hiccups in between Brendon panting out, "Yours. Yours. Yours."


End file.
